My son Marshal
by hazelmom
Summary: Stan sits with his old friend, Seth Mann after Operation Falcon is finished.


This is a little scene to honor one of the few Marshal centered episodes we get. IPS wouldn't be worth my time without Marshall Marshal Mann. No time for Mary/Marshall goodness, but I have a couple of earlier fics that romance them.

**My Son Marshal**

He sat down at the bar and ordered a rye and water. Bartender was young, probably working her first job. It was clear that the part about rye confused her. She froze for a moment. Bartending schools these days seemed to prepare them more for Midori melon margaritas than anything old school.

He nodded at her. "Check for Wild Turkey. Otherwise, I'll take a Canadian whiskey with a couple of drops of water added."

She turned to rummage through the bottles at the back near the mirror. A hand slapped the bar, and Mann turned to find Stan settling on the stool next to him. "I ordered a rye. You want one?"

Stan chuckled. "You'll be lucky if she finds one for you."

The young bartender stood up and shrugged her shoulders. Stan nodded. "Just pour us a couple of Jamesons."

"Sometimes, I feel like I'm 150 years old," Mann said softly.

"You starting to look forward to retirement?"

Seth Mann snarled. "You're kidding, right?"

"It won't be so bad, Seth. I'm looking forward to mine."

Mann shook his head and took a long sip of the Jameson.

"Come on, Seth. Operation's over. Completely successful. What's got your undies in a wad?"

"I barely know him, Stan."

"Ahhh…I should have figured that this was about that gangly kid who's been hanging around the office these last 7 years."

"I came to Albuquerque to talk him out of this job. I could never figure why he insisted on following the family tradition. Boy was stubborn. He's walked his own path in life since kindergarten, and then one day, he ups and joins the service."

Stan tapped the side of the shot glass. "I'm damn glad you didn't talk him out of anything."

"I still don't get how this can possibly work. He's so sensitive. Hell, I remember when he was 7 years old, and this kid in his class was getting bullied. Marshal started protecting the kid. Never let him out of his sight. Lost all his other friends. Every day he hung out with this underfed kid wearing hand me downs. We tried to separate them so Marshal could focus on school. Every time we tried, he was inconsolable. Cried and cried. We finally had to give up and let him stick to the kid until the family finally moved out of the district."

Stan downed the rest of the whiskey and signaled for another. "You probably think he'd be better…happier as a teacher or social worker or something."

"I always thought it would make him happier. I got two other sons in the service. I don't need Marshal to follow in my footsteps. He needs to follow his own dreams."

"I think you were right in the beginning. You really don't know him that well."

Seth glared at him for a moment before taking another long draw off his drink.

Stan chuckled. "Seth, your son isn't following in your footsteps. He's still walking his own road."

"I could use a little clarification on that."

"Marshal is one of the best WitSec agents I've ever worked with. And he didn't get that way by following your example or even mine, for that matter. Your son is one of those rare and special people gifted with enough goodness and faith to change lives. And he's figured out, on his own mostly, how to do that in our business."

Seth let out a breath. "I saw him with that witness, Amber and I was impressed. But I also sort of told myself that I'd probably scared her enough so that she was ready for whatever he was selling. I mean, you can't just talk nice to criminals and expect to get what you want. I'm not a complete fossil or idiot, for that matter."

Stan nodded. "We do deal with scum and Marshal is very good at telling the difference. But I am telling you Seth, if there is some goodness in a person, your son finds it and he capitalizes on it. I have seen hardened criminals change their lives under his protection."

"I still wonder, though, if he wouldn't be happier doing something else."

"His sense of justice is just as fierce as his old man's. He's carved out a very unique niche where he can help people and uphold justice all at the same time. Your son is doing exactly what he wants to be doing with his life."

Seth glanced at his watch. "I thought he'd be here by now."

"Yeah…about that. Marshal takes three older ladies from his building over to the community center for Mahjong every Tuesday night. He couldn't really skip a night because the ladies depend on him for transportation so he asked me to keep you company until he gets here."

"Mahjong?" Seth squinted at Stan.

"Do us both a favor and don't ask him about it. He's got a treatise on the history of the game. It takes a good three hours to get through it."

Seth shook his head. "He's…uh, really something, isn't he?"

Stan raised his glass. "I'm damned proud to know him."

The End


End file.
